Analogue superhero in Pakistan

Hulk Hogan meant something to Boomers and Gen Xers

Maulana Bijlighar was quite the character – he got the name because the mosque he led was close to a Grid Station in former NWFP. But this evocative name was not the cause of his renown. A firebrand conservative, his speeches would often be passed around, sort of like the more recently deceased Khadim Hussain Rizvi’s, except he didn’t use the kind of base and colourful language Rizvi employed as extensively. Maulana Bijlighar was the equivalent of a right wing stand up comedian who was also a cleric, his sermons would have the whole audience roaring with laughter as he spinned yarns and told stories to make his point. Everything had a killer punchline.

One of his best jokes was an off the cuff remark. He wanted to ban wrestling on TV. His objection wasn’t really Islamic in nature, he was afraid if the women of Pakistan saw these sculpted and beautiful men in the prime of their lives, “tu phir in hattay kattay ko dekhney ke baad humarein auratein kya hum se khush rahengein?”

Wrestling was big in the world back then — and even Maulana Bijlighar was referencing it to make a point, despite claiming not to own a TV. Top tier wrestling wasn’t terrestrially transmitted, more often than not you watched it on VHS. And it was the VCR that was the conduit to Hulk Hogan.

We didn’t realise at the time because we were too enamoured by the physical prowess on display, but Hulk Hogan was a cartoon character aimed at children, one that adults loved too. Popeye had his spinach, and the wrestlers their steroids. Like Michael Jordan, he was the singular character that launched a sport from regional to national and international consciousness.

The adults who loved wrestling of that era simply fell for the ease in which the good vs evil was framed – not realising the bad guys in wrestling were cartoons too, like the Iron Sheik. For a lot of us, the illusion of wrestling first unravelled when we understood the athleticism of WWF wrestling was real, but the battles were not. Matches were choreographed with results determined long in advance in a script outlining the beefs that we would be choosing sides in.

Others amongst us only learned wrestling was fake the first time we got into a fight. You can’t do a piledriver unless your opponent lets you. Also, some learned of the reality of wrestling when we saw PTV’s Olympics coverage and discovered The Ultimate Warrior wasn’t competing, and no Suplex moves were to be seen. Learning in Pakistan the nature of the spectacle of wrestling was a construct that must have the equivalent of Western kids finding out Santa did not, in fact, exist.

But Hulkamania in Pakistan wasn’t as widespread as it was in the US because access to wrestling was different then. His era was for the Pakistani boomer, Gen X and the earliest millennials who owned VCRs. Millennials “proper” came to wrestling when satellite and cable were common, and at that time it was the age of the Undertaker, Kane, The Rock, and others. Hulk is recognised even today by the youth – but more for his iconography. For Boomers and Gen Xers, he wasn’t just known; he meant something to them.

Justice Waqar Ahmad Seth, who was part of the panel that sentenced the former dictator General Pervez Musharraf to death for treason, feigned ignorance of the controversy his judgment had caused – the PTI government at the time made noises about wanting to disbar him as unfit for office. When asked about this he said he had no knowledge of the furor because he only ever watched wrestling on TV. There is no information on this, but I imagine he could have been a Hulkster.

To today’s kids, the best way of understanding who Hulk Hogan was to an entire generation of Pakistani’s back then is that he was the analogue superhero before the development of CGI in a MCU that was the World Wrestling Federation. My cousins Ali and Ano would visit in the summers, and it would mean months of tag team wrestling matches with me and my brother – trying to catch the illusive magic of the screen. Seeing the feeds of my friends on Facebook, it looks like it was a common thread to many childhoods.

Maybe because we were young, or that the world was different then, it was not incongruous to us when we saw Hulk Hogan coming to the ring with his theme music blaring Rick Derringer’s Real American: “I am a real American, Fight for the rights of every man.” These lyrics sounded to us what a real Pakistani was as well as kids. These were the same days when Rambo was helping the Afghan Mujahidin in the third installment of the film series, dedicated to “the gallant people of Afghanistan” in the credits. I think the fault lines, and real motivations of American policy are clearer to the young now – it wasn’t that black and white while we were getting F-16’s and partnered in the Cold War.

It’s interesting now that Hulk Hogan has passed on the heels of Ozzy Osbourne – another youth fixture – the heartfelt condolence has come from those who moved on from Wrestling, their memories of Hulk Hogan fixed in time, polished further by memory. Their remembrances capture the innocence of youth, a longing for that simplicity.

But there is another group, one that may not have kept up with wrestling but did keep up with the news about it. Sentiments have always been subject to attack from new information, and adulation can crater with it.

For Hulk Hogan, life happened after the ring. Or we noticed more of his life. Hulk Hogan’s corny and agreeable persona started to unravel as his politics became known, as his family fell apart and the background to his sordid sex tape came to light, and ultimately, his racism revealed. It was as if Tom from Tom and Jerry had his own “me too” allegations. Hulk wasn’t the lovable figure being cartoonish anymore, neither was he forgivable for being buffoonish. As his persona was revealed, he started to come across as very insincere, like a cynical actor who thought very little of his audience.

In the backdrop of Gaza, and Hulk’s MAGA politics, there is remembrance of one side of his fanbase in Pakistan who knew about his current life that is more muted and circumspect. It’s as if he polluted the memories of their long-gone childhood in later years. And this is perhaps one of the markers of the current age, few separate the art from the artist.

Fasi Zaka is a cultural commentator and an RJ.